


A Partridge In A Pear Tree

by noangelsinthegarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Destiel, Canon Era, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Dean no longer has the Mark of Cain, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Sam Ships It, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:41:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noangelsinthegarrison/pseuds/noangelsinthegarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve never had a Christmas before,” Cas says as they make their way back to the makeshift living room, “I’m not entirely sure what it entails.”</p>
<p>Dean grins and slings an arm around Cas’s shoulders, “Well then,” he says, overwhelming fondness spreading out through his veins and solidifying into determination, “I guess I’d better make this the best Christmas ever.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Partridge In A Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [12 days of destiel](http://12daysofdestiel.tumblr.com) tumblr project and beta-d by the lovely [Onja](http://appleblossomdean.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also posted on [my tumblr](http://forgetmenotcas.tumblr.com)

**December 12 th**

It started, as so many things do these days, with Cas trying to leave the bunker.

“Oh, okay,” Dean’s shoulders slump as Cas begins to shrug on his trenchcoat, “So, you’re not sticking around for Christmas?”

It’s the middle of December and, in a desperate fit of optimism, Dean had kind of hoped when Cas had chosen to give the last of his grace and become human (permanently this time) in exchange for Dean’s restored humanity, that maybe he’d want to stay for once.

Cas bites his lip and freezes with only one arm inside his coat, “Would you – ” he starts, and Dean lets himself believe he looks hopeful, “Would you like me to?”

Dean huffs a rather incredulous laugh, “Geez, Cas, do you really need to ask that?”

Cas shrugs and his eyes flicker down to the floor, “I did not want to assume I was welcome here. I believe humans regard Christmas as a time to be with their loved ones.”

Dean doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, “Cas,” he says, and Cas looks up at him as he steps forward, “I don’t know what show you’ve been watching if you think that’s not what you are.”

Cas’s breath hitches and Dean reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, “It would mean a lot to both of us if you stayed for Christmas, and uh,” he clears his throat, “For as long as you want after that. This is your home too, you know.”

Cas’s eyes shine with something Dean can’t identify and there’s a wetness there that makes Dean clear his throat again and drop his hand.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas whispers, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips, “I would like to stay with you.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes Dean’s cheeks feel warm and the back of his neck feel prickly. Cas says ‘you’ like he means Dean specifically; like home to Cas is less of a place and more of a person. It makes Dean’s throat close up sometimes, the way Cas looks at him. Too much reverence, too much faith, too much… something.

“Awesome,” Dean breathes, smile completely involuntary when Cas removes his arm from his coat and hangs it back up on the stand by the door.

Cas smiles back as they start to absent-mindedly make their way back to the room they’ve adopted as a living room, “I’ve never had a Christmas before,” he says, “I’m not entirely sure what it entails.”

Dean grins and slings an arm around Cas’s shoulders, “Well then,” he says, overwhelming fondness spreading out through his veins and solidifying into determination, “I guess I’d better make this the best Christmas ever, huh?”

Cas frowns, “What do you mean?”

Dean pulls away, clapping Cas just once on the back before walking backwards out of the room with a wink, “I mean that I’m not a demon anymore, you’ve hung up your halo, and you and me, Cas? We’re gonna have ourselves a real, _human_ Christmas this year.”

Dean hurries to his room, sits at his desk, and writes a list.

*

**December 13 th**

“Cas, put your coat on.”

Cas looks up from where he sits reading opposite Sam in the library with no small amount of alarm.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the first day of Christmas and we’re going to get a tree.”

Cas blinks.

“Uh, Dean,” Sam frowns, “You know, the first day of Christmas is actually Christmas day.”

Dean shrugs, unfazed, “Whatever, I’m doing it this way. You coming, Cas?”

There’s a second, maybe two, where Dean thinks that maybe Cas doesn’t want to spend Christmas with them after all or that maybe Dean’s the only one who even cares that the two people he cares about the most are actually safe and happy under one roof for once. But then Cas smiles, pink-cheeked and excited, and follows Dean out of the door.

They spend far longer than Dean had planned at the Christmas tree farm but he finds he doesn’t mind at all. Cas takes choosing a Christmas tree just as seriously as he takes everything else and Dean spends a surprisingly happy hour watching Cas frown critically at every single tree in the yard. It’s adorable really, though Dean pretends that isn’t at all the word that comes to mind, and he can’t help but smile at the way the corners of Cas’s eyes crinkle when he finally decides on his favourite.

By the time they get home, Sam’s waiting for them with an old box of decorations they’d found in one of the storage rooms and the three of them hang baubles on the tree while Cas tells them about all the different Yuletide traditions he’s observed over the years.

Cas laughs when Sam puts a delicate porcelain angel, claiming to be Gabriel, on the top branch and Dean, feeling drunk on the sound, rests a wreath of gold tinsel around the crown of Cas’s head. Cas rolls his eyes and nudges their shoulders together, but he doesn’t take it off.

*

**December 14 th**

Dean pokes his head around his brother’s bedroom door, “Hey, Sammy, me and Cas are gonna watch some Christmas movies tonight. Wanna join?”

Sam smiles over the top of his laptop, “What, and crash the date?”

Dean splutters, “What?”

“You left the DVDs on the kitchen table, Dean. ‘ _Love Actually’_? Really?”

Dean flushes, “I got ‘ _Die Hard’_ and ‘ _Elf’_ as well! Just covering all the genres!”

“Right,” Sam smirks, “Well thanks but I still think I’ll pass. Have fun with Cas, Dean.”

He winks and Dean glares at the way he says ‘CasDean’ like he told the world’s best joke.

“I hate you,” he points aggressively at his brother and stalks out the room, ignoring the obnoxious way Sam’s laughter follows him down the hall.

*

**December 15 th**

“Did you do this as children?” Cas asks, not looking away from where he’s concentrating intently on the paper and scissors in his hands.

Dean shrugs and looks back at his own half-formed snowflake, “Sometimes. Couple of times Dad wasn’t home for Christmas, we’d make some of these to decorate the motel room with.” He unfolds the paper in his hands and smiles as he takes in the finished product, “I like this one.”

Cas looks over at it and smiles, just like he has done for the previous six Dean has made, and reaches over to take it gently from Dean’s hands. He places it on the pile of finished snowflakes and hands Dean another paper circle.

Dean smiles at the top of Cas’s head as the former angel looks back at his own. “You take snowflakes very seriously.”

Cas unfolds the paper in his hands and takes a moment to run his fingers across the design before he looks up, “Do you think this is how God felt?”

Dean frowns. He hadn’t expected cutting out snowflakes to lead to Cas thinking about his absent father.

“What do you mean?” He asks gently and Cas smiles a little as he adds his snowflake to the pile.

“All the snowflakes are unique, we have to make each one separately.” He rests his hands in his lap and meets Dean’s eyes. Dean is relieved to find more wonder than sadness there. “Some are nicer than others, yet we stop to appreciate each one anyway. I think this is how God must have felt when he made the humans.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to think about how God must have been losing interest by the time he got around to Dean, so he reaches out to nudge his socked foot against Cas’s, “Maybe,” he smiles, “Hey, I bet I can make a snowflake that looks more like you than you can of me!”

Cas huffs a laugh and picks up another circle to start cutting and Dean bites his lip against his own smile when he realises that Cas hasn’t moved his foot away.

*

**December 16 th**

Dean leaves the bunker early in the morning, before either Sam or Cas leave their bedrooms and when he returns, he thankfully manages to get back into his own room without being seen. He waits until he hears Cas padding out of the kitchen to slump on the living room couch with his morning coffee before making himself known.

He bursts through the door.

“Ho ho ho and Merry Christmas!” He booms, voice muffled a little by the large, fake beard on his face.

Cas startles and stares up at him. Sam, who spilled some of his coffee on his lap at Dean’s outburst, looks torn between irritation and intense amusement.

“Seriously, Dean?” He says and Dean turns away from Cas’s confused head tilt to grin at his brother.

“Dean?” He asks, slapping his heavily padded belly, “You mean your better looking, way more charming brother? Sadly he isn’t here but he insisted I still come to visit. He’s selfless like that.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, “You’ve come to ask what we want for Christmas?”

Dean rests his hands on his red-clad hips and shakes his head so the bell on his hat jingles, “Well not _you_ ,” Dean huffs, Sam was totally not meant to be in here, “ _You’re_ on the bad list. I’ve come to ask what young master Castiel would like for Christmas.”

He turns back to Cas, ignoring the way Sam snorts in a frankly undignified manner, and smiles encouragingly.

“Is Santa Claus supposed to be British?” Cas asks, and wow. Why is no one appreciating Dean’s acting skills right now?

“Of course I’m British!” Dean spreads his arms, “Why? Did you expect me to sound just like Dean? Who by the way is an incredibly good actor? Of course not!”

Cas looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh and Dean counts it as a win.

“Okay, Santa,” Sam says pointedly, and Dean isn’t looking at him but he can hear the smirk in his voice so clearly that he doesn’t need to, “So what you’re saying is, you want Castiel to sit on your lap while you tell him what a good boy he’s been this year?”

Santa’s cheeks burn bright red.

“You’re getting nothing but coal this year,” he declares, and stalks out of the room as proudly as his furry boots will allow.

*

**December 17 th**

“So, fifth day of Christmas,” Dean grins as he parks the Impala, “Ready?”

Cas smiles fondly at him from the passenger seat, “I have enjoyed the first four days, I have no reason to believe I won’t enjoy this one as well.”

“That’s the spirit,” Dean rolls his eyes, but smiles even wider when they climb out of the car and Cas’s face lights up.

“This is a fair,” He says eagerly and Dean nods as they start to make their way over to the entrance.

“Yep. Well, a Christmas Market to be exact. I know we had to drive a bit out of our way but, it had awesome reviews.”

He feels Cas’s gaze on the side of his face as he stops at the first stall to buy two hot chocolates, and when he turns to hand one to Cas, his breath catches a little at the softness of his smile.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and Dean’s pretty sure it’s not just the drink he’s thanking him for.

“You’re welcome,” Dean shrugs and when their fingers brush against Cas’s cup, both their cheeks get a little bit pinker.

They wander around the market for hours, splitting off for half an hour in the middle while Dean collects supplies for the rest of the week and Cas buys presents for both Winchesters. They eat cinnamon buns while watching a carpenter sand down a customised sled that looks like Santa’s sleigh and Dean laughs when Cas gets a smear of cream cheese frosting on his nose.

He reaches out to wipe it off with his thumb, trying to ignore the way Cas blushes and the way he’d wanted more than anything to kiss it off instead.

There’s an old book stall that makes Dean briefly feel bad for not inviting Sam, but there’s a hopeful voice inside his head that reminds him that Cas hasn’t once asked after his whereabouts, and Dean thinks that tonight, while he’s lying in bed, he’ll imagine a world in which Cas wished this was a date as much as Dean did.

Not that he isn’t happy with what he has right now. Having Cas standing next to him, safe and smiling softly at an old book about the language of flowers, is more than Dean really deserves as it is. When Cas isn’t looking, Dean slips the man behind the stall a twenty and adds the book to his bag.

*

**December 18 th**

“I hate to break it to you, Cas,” Dean deadpans, trying his absolute hardest not to laugh as he turns from peering at the cookies in the oven to check on Cas’s progress, “But I think you’re aging.”

Cas squints at him and tilts his head and Dean can’t help the swell of giddy affection that blossoms in his chest. He reaches out and, as easy as breathing, runs his hand through Cas’s hair to shake free the icing sugar clinging there.

Cas drops the sieve in his hands, sending a further cloud of sugar into the air, but Dean is far too distracted by the way Cas shivers and leans into his touch to worry about the state of his kitchen.

“There,” he murmurs, standing way closer to Cas than perhaps he needs to, “All gone.”

He removes his hand reluctantly from Cas’s hair and determinedly doesn’t think about the dusting of colour on Cas’s cheeks. It isn’t him. It’s not _Dean_ that makes Cas’s breath hitch and Cas’s heart beat faster. It’s the touch, poor guy’s just not used to it, and Dean can only imagine how overwhelming affection must be to someone who’s so new to humanity.

He rests a hand on the small of Cas’s back while his friend continues sieving the sugar into a mixing bowl and tells himself it’s for his sake that he keeps it there for longer than he needs to.

There’s a minor scuffle with the food colouring, Cas insisting on putting enough drops of green in to make the cookies look realistic and completely ignoring Dean’s (incredibly sensible) point that it’s a friggin’ cookie. It’s not going to look like an actual Christmas tree, whatever colour the icing is. But no, it just _has_ to be _exactly_ the right shade of green, ‘don’t be ridiculous, Dean’.

After dinner, the three of them settle in the living room to watch ‘ _A Muppet Christmas Carol’_ and when Dean brings the cookies out, Sam congratulates them on how good they look.

Cas sends a smug smile at Dean and nudges his thigh with his foot.

*

**December 19 th**

The moment Cas walks into the kitchen, still a little bleary eyed from sleep, Dean throws a lump of knitted blue material at his head.

“It’s the seventh day of Christmas, Cas, gotta dress right.”

Cas blinks at him owlishly for a couple of seconds before finally managing to take in the Winchesters’ attire. The Christmas sweaters Dean bought from the market are thickly knitted and soft to the touch. Sam’s red wool has a cheerful looking reindeer on the front, and Dean’s is a forest green with a line of Christmas puddings around the chest. But Cas’s he’d been most proud of, and he stands up when Cas looks down at the material in his hands.

His breath hitches, “Angels.”

“Angels,” Dean replies. “I mean it’s okay if you don’t want to wear it,” he rubs the back of his neck as he comes to stand directly in front of Cas, “But I thought maybe you might like the reminder that… just because you’ve chosen this family,” he gestures vaguely at himself and Sam, “Doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten your old one.”

With shaking hands, Cas pulls the sweater on over his messy head and runs a reverent palm over the front once his arms are through the sleeves. The wool is pale blue, and Dean thinks it was actually meant for women because the neck and sleeves have sparkly thread woven in, but the best thing about it is the string of angels standing wing-tip to wing-tip around the bottom hem.

When Cas looks up at him his eyes are wet and there’s so much awe there that Dean has to look away.

“So, you like it?” He asks awkwardly, picking an invisible speck of fluff off his own jumper.

“I love it,” Cas whispers, and he doesn’t take it off for days.

*

**December 20 th**

Dean knocks on the door, “Do you wanna build a snowman?” he asks with a grin and when Sam opens the door it’s with reluctant amusement on his face.

“‘ _Frozen’_ , Dean? Really?”

“Ha!” Dean jabs him in the chest, “If you recognised it then that means you watched it too.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “You do realise there’s no snow, right?”

“Not here,” Dean shrugs, “But there’s some about an hour away, you coming?”

Sam looks for a moment as though he’s going to decline, but something on Dean’s face must show that he’d actually really like Sam to join them this time, and a smile breaks out on his face.

“Yeah, okay,” he agrees and squeezes Dean’s shoulder.

By the time they get to the field, the sun is high in the sky, but it’s still cold enough that when Dean gets out the car he sees his breath cloud in front of him. Cas is shivering within seconds of shutting his own car door, still not quite used to the cold, and Dean is glad he came prepared.

“Here,” he smiles, opening the trunk and beckoning Cas over, “These’ll keep you warm.”

He ignores the way Sam smirks at him as he pulls a set of woollen gloves, a hat and a scarf out of a bag, all the same colour as Cas’s angel sweater. He doesn’t meet Cas’s eyes as he winds the scarf around his neck, nor when he hands him the gloves, but when he looks up to fit the hat snugly over his pink ears, their gaze catches just a little too long.

That is until Dean receives a very cold face-full of snow.

Sam cackles as Dean whips around, “What the hell, Sam?”

Sam just bends down to scoop up more snow, “Not my fault you weren’t paying attention!” he calls and before Dean can respond, Cas is yelping as Sam’s snowball hits him square on the forehead.

“Oh, it’s on, bitch!” Dean cries, “Come on, Cas.”

He grabs Cas’s wrist and before he knows it, the two of them have tackled Sam to the ground; Cas holding his arms while Dean smushes snow right into his face.

It’s freezing, Dean hadn’t anticipated just how cold playing in the snow would actually be, but the three of them are grinning so hard that they don’t seem to feel it while they wrestle in the snow, nor while they build a snowman.

It feels good, Dean thinks, as they lie side, by side, by side, drinking hot chocolate out of a flask and making snow angels. He has his little brother on his left, panting happily at the sky and flapping his moose limbs wildly in an attempt to make the best angel; and his best friend on the right, finger tips brushing Dean’s on every upswing of his arms.

By the time they’ve finished, they’re shivering but flushed and Dean tells Cas to go warm up in the car while he gathers all the soaked layers of outerwear they’d stripped off over the course of their afternoon.

Sam loiters next to him while he tries to find Cas’s other glove.

“Dean,” He ventures, and Dean can tell he’s about to say something deeper than Dean wants to deal with right now, “What you’re doing. For him. It’s really awesome, you know?”

Dean shrugs, spotting the glove on top of the snowman’s head, “Everyone loves Christmas.”

“Dean, I’m serious. I’ve never seen him smile so much. I just wanted you to know that I think it’s great. You and him. The way you look at each other. I mean, you know, right?”

“Know what?” Dean asks, staring at the soaked material in his hands and not knowing whether he wants Sam to drop the subject or not.

Sam sighs, “That maybe it’s not _Christmas_ that makes him so happy.”

*

**December 21 st**

“What are we doing today?” Cas asks eagerly, huddled in his angel sweater, hands wrapped around his second mug of coffee.

Dean shrugs around his mouthful of toast, “Nothing much. Thought we could just relax, listen to some Christmas music.”

Cas nods, earnest and pleased, “That sounds nice, Dean.”

Sam snorts and heads back to his room.

*

**December 22 nd**

Cas swallows loudly and inches sideways just enough for his shoulder to brush Dean’s, “I’m not sure about this.”

Dean almost agrees with him. When he’d told Sammy this morning that he was taking Cas ice skating, Sam had looked him right in the eye, completely serious, and asked ‘So will you be going with Deastiel or Casdean?’ and then laughed as Dean scowled and insisted that ‘ice skating is not just for couples, bitch!’.

Except now, watching all the people skating hand in hand around the rink, Dean thinks that maybe Sam had been right. Maybe it is too obvious. Maybe Cas will know that Dean is really, sort of, hoping Cas will need to link their gloved hands together as they skate. Maybe he’ll know Dean wants an excuse to wrap his arm around his friend’s waist.

“How come?” Dean asks instead, knocking their shoulders even more firmly together as they stop right by the edge of the ice.

Cas eyes the skaters wearily, “What if I fall?”

Dean’s brain falters, just for a second. A barely noticeable jump in a suddenly fast-paced record. He takes a breath, lets the melody guide him, and threads his fingers through Cas’s.

“I’ll catch you.”

Cas looks at him then, shallow breaths visible between them in the December air and they mix with Dean’s in a way that makes Dean’s ears feel warm.

Suddenly, as bright and beautiful as Dean has ever seen it, Cas smiles. “Okay,” he beams, and steps onto the ice.

They stay on the ice for the whole hour they paid for, Cas keeping Dean’s hand in his long after he finds his balance, and Dean feels drunk on the delighted sounds Cas makes as they glide faster and faster around the rink.

“It’s just like flying!” He gasps, “Dean, we’re flying!” And in his excitement, their gazes locked together perhaps a little too long, he overbalances.

They stumble, completely inelegantly, to the ground; Dean’s arms around Cas’s waist in an effort to keep them upright; and even with the back of his angel sweater getting damp and cold against the ice, Cas laughs and laughs and laughs.

Dean stares, he can’t help it. Cas looks... free. He looks wild and unburdened and radiant against the ice and when he stops laughing long enough to meet Dean’s eyes with that familiar overwhelming _something_ in his expression, Dean almost ( _almost_ ) kisses him.

Instead, he just smiles hopelessly down at him, powerless to do anything else when Cas’s eyes are crinkled at the corners and Cas’s smile is so wide his gums are showing.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says, hands squeezing where they rest against Dean’s arms.

Dean shakes his head minutely, “I let you fall.”

For a moment, so quick Dean thinks maybe he imagined it, Cas’s fingers brush against the back of his neck. “That’s okay,” he smiles, small and so warm Dean stops noticing the way his knees are starting to sting against the ice, “Falling wasn’t so bad, in the end.”

*

**December 23 rd**

On the eleventh day of Christmas, Dean feels jittery and flustered every time Cas smiles at him. Which is a lot.

He feels too warm at breakfast when Cas catches his eye over the rim of his mug and blushes, and his chest feels tight even after he escapes to his room. It’s pathetic. It’s ridiculous. And Dean can’t work out if he’s crazily, _stupidly_ happy or whether he’s terrified.

He thinks it’s probably a bit of both.

He stays in his room most of the day, trying not to think about Cas, and trying not to smile too much whenever he does.

Sometime just after dinner, he finds Cas curled on the couch with ‘ _A Christmas Carol’_ and the sleeves of his sweater pulled over his hands.

“Hey,” he says, soft and a little bit breathless.

“Hello,” Cas replies, closing his book, “Is one of those for me?”

He nods at the mugs in Dean’s hands and Dean, feeling more ridiculous than ever, ducks his head to hide his smile.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, sitting down next to Cas (too close, not close enough) and handing one over, “Mulled wine.”

Cas takes it with a shy smile and Dean is proud of the way he manages not to have a small heart attack when Cas closes his eyes and hums at the taste.

*

**December 24 th**

“So, I have an idea for today,” Dean shifts nervously in the doorway to Cas’s room, “But you can tell me if you don’t want to go. Like, if it upsets you or, annoys you because they get a load of shit wrong, or – ”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, looking amused and more than a little fond, “What is it?”

Dean sighs and rubs the back of his neck, “A nativity play.”

“What?”

“It’s at the church not too far from here,” Dean explains, “It’s Christmas Eve and apparently there’s this special service they do with candles and Christmas carols and the kids from Sunday School do a play about Jesus.”

Cas’s eyes are wide. “You’d come with me?”

“Well, yeah,” Dean says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “And Sam too probably. But only if you’d like to, man. I mean, it’s the twelfth day so I wanted it to be something good but I’d totally get it if church really isn’t where you want to be right now and – ”

Cas hugs him.

“I’d love to go, Dean.”

They pile into the Impala around five in the afternoon, Cas’s knees bouncing a little in anticipation. They’re three of the last ones to get there, but the woman who greets them at the door offers them a wide smile and three candles.

“You can light them from the big candle before you sit down,” she explains, “Are you new to this church?”

Dean nods gruffly, a little uncomfortable, and Cas leans a little into his side as he answers, “We are. I’m afraid our relationship with God has been a little… tumultuous.”

Dean winces and readies himself for a hasty exit, but the woman just smiles kindly and rests a hand upon Cas’s forearm. “I think that’s okay,” she says, “Some of the best relationships are, after all.”

Dean thinks of the two people either side of him, and feels like maybe, she might just be right.

The service itself is what Dean expected. Long; full of songs they don’t recognise (but Sam makes a valiant effort at singing anyway) and words that don’t really mean anything once you’ve had as many unpleasant run-ins with angels as Dean has. But somehow, it’s also better. Dean had worried that Cas would grow solemn and quiet, that he’d take church as seriously as he takes everything, but instead the three of them spend most of the nativity play trying to stifle their giggles. Gabriel is being played by a sweet-looking, blonde girl wearing a white dress and very, _very_ fluffy wings.

When it’s over and everyone starts to file out, Cas spots a small alcove with candles lining the walls.

“You can light one for someone you’ve lost,” Sam explains, and wordlessly, the three of them make their way over.

They light one for Mary, and then for John. They light one for Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Adam. Sam lights one for Jess and another for Kevin while Dean lights one for Benny and lets Sam squeeze his shoulder.

Cas lights all the remaining candles and he doesn’t say anything but when he’s done, he smiles.

*

**December 25 th**

Cas is sitting by the foot of the Christmas tree with childlike glee when Dean and Sam wander in with their coffees the next morning.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Cas grins and Dean flops down on the couch with a chuckle.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.”

They stare just a beat too long and Sam, annoying moose that he is, coughs pointedly. Cas’s cheeks go pink, but his eyes stay warm as they flicker over to Sam.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” he greets and Sam grinds fondly at the pair of them in a way that makes Dean blush.

“Merry Christmas, Cas.” He lifts his mug in a salute.

“Would you like your presents now?” Cas asks eagerly, sitting forward on his knees, and Dean thinks it’s one of the most adorable things he’s ever seen.

He groans good-naturedly, “How long have you been waiting for us to wake up.”

“Just over an hour,” Cas shrugs, “Why? Is it too early for presents?”

He looks a little crestfallen and Dean’s just about to reassure him that it’s _never_ too early for presents when Sam slides right onto the floor next to Cas and holds his hands out.

“Nope!” He grins, “I’m totally ready for presents!”

He looks just like he did when he was a kid. Dean kind of wants to cry a little bit.

Sam unwraps a book on Greek mythology that makes his face light up and he draws Cas into a one-armed hug. He reaches under the tree to pull out a flat parcel wrapped in newspaper, and Cas laughs when he opens it to find a set of brightly coloured, patterned ties.

Dean gives Sam his present next (a new leather wallet he’d found at the Christmas market) and joins them on the floor to hug his brother when Sam hands over a fancy looking recipe book, exclusively for pies.

It isn’t until there are only two presents left under the tree that Dean realises he’s nervous. He has no reason to be, it’s no big deal, yet he pointedly doesn’t look at Cas while he unwraps his gift.

It’s the book on flowers he was looking at at the market. It’s nothing special at all, but Cas still runs his hand across the cover like it’s something precious.

“This is the book I saw at the market.”

Dean shrugs, “Yeah. God knows why, you weirdo. But. It made you smile. So. Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Cas smiles at him, and somehow it manages to be the smallest, yet warmest one he’s seen so far, “May I give you yours now?”

Dean nods and Cas places a small, badly wrapped parcel in his outstretched hand.

Dean unwraps it slowly, not really sure why his fingers feel clumsy and shaky, and when the paper finally falls away, his breath hitches. Somewhere in the distance he hears Sam leave the room.

“Do you like it?” Cas asks in a small voice, “I was worried you might think it was too... intimate. But I found it at the market and the woman behind the stall said it was a perfect gift for a loved one and I thought that maybe you could wear it and remember that you have people who care about you. And that even though I don’t have my wings anymore, I’ll always watch over you. In any way that I can.”

It’s so simple. Just a leather cord bracelet with a silver, angel wing pendant attaching the two ends. But Dean feels instantly like he’s never going to take it off.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says hoarsely, blinking away the emotion as he clasps the bracelet around his right wrist and runs his finger along the wing tip, “I love it.”

He hears Cas sigh a breath of relief, “Good.”

Dean looks up and there’s a terrifying second when he finds himself absently leaning forward, coming dangerously close to swaying completely into Cas’s space and kissing him right there under the Christmas tree.

But he catches himself just in time and scrambles to his feet instead.

“Anyway,” he says awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking around pointlessly at the door, “I’d better go make breakfast. Bacon and pancakes sound good? Or French toast maybe? Whatever you want, you know? It’s Christmas.”

“Dean,” Cas says, standing up, and somehow it manages to calm Dean’s frantic heart, “May I ask you something?”

He looks nervous, determined in a way that only comes when you’re about to broach a topic you’ve been thinking about for a while, and it ties Dean’s stomach up in knots.

“Uh,” he hedges, “Sure.”

Cas nods once to himself and takes a shaky breath.

“I just wanted to know… I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me, Dean,” his eyes flicker to Dean’s and then back to the floor, “And this Christmas has been wonderful but I… I was just wondering if – if the reason you didn’t show me about mistletoe was because you thought I wouldn’t want to learn about it or because you didn’t want to be the one I learnt about it with.”

He says the last part so fast it takes Dean a moment to catch up, but when he does, he feels his face burning bright red.

Mistletoe. Cas wants to know about mistletoe. With him. Cas had wanted him to show him about mistletoe. Cas and mistletoe. Cas and Dean and mistletoe. Mistletoe, plus Cas and Dean.

“You, uh,” Dean says dumbly, Cas still not looking up at him, “You want to learn about mistletoe? With me?”

Cas nods, meeting his eyes shyly as he pulls a tiny sprig of green and white out of his pants pocket with a blush, “Sam gave this to me last night,” he admits, “But I’d rather it was you who showed me what it was for.”

Dean huffs a laugh and the sound seems to relax Cas’s shoulders and colour his eyes with hope.

“You know,” Dean smiles, stepping right into Cas’s space, “I _could_ just tell you what it was for.”

Cas hums as if in thought, “You could,” he says with smiling eyes, lifting the mistletoe above their heads, “But where would be the fun in that?”

Dean laughs, takes Cas’s face between his palms, and kisses him.


End file.
